Part of what I need to do with myself is to find those things that I've forgotten about. I've let the tumult of the last few years get the better of me, and I feel I've let too many things go away. Essentially I need to look at habits and ways I accomplish or fail to accomplish things. I have less good habits that need adjustment, and I've stopped a lot of things that are just good for me.
There are of course other things like the bike. I am truly in love with that machine, though right now I still need to look at his rear derailleur so that we can get those two gears back, and his chain needs to be looked at. Having been in a bit of rain lately we might need to look into some oil, and a general wipe down would be nice.
In speaking of those old habit that were good I have to get to my real story. I finally paid the library off and found the two "lost" books. When I've read books lately they've been rereads, and while I have no problem with reading a book again, there's nothing quite like reading a book you've never read before, and to make it even better add a new author to that list as well.
Or add an old friend like J.R.R. Tolkien when you discover his The Book of Lost Tales. I'm only a couple of pages into his son's foreword in which he's spoken about The Silmarillion more than not and has even discussed other people's discussion of it. I'm not sure why I bother with forewords sometimes, and sometimes while reading I won't get why I bother. Either way I'm a fan of Tolkien, and better yet I'm sure Big Brother will be happy to get his hands on it also.
He's certainly happy to have the library back. He's rereread so many books lately. The Boy has yet to finish a chapter book on his own, but I know the day is coming. I feel like I hate that he doesn't love reading as much as his brother and I do, but I also get that his interest just doesn't right now and may never. Or maybe he just needs to find the right book.
He happened upon Shiloh which is about a boy and a dog if the cover has any truth to it. I feel like it might be one of those books I should have read by now, and I do plan to read it before it's due back. The Boy picked it up because his teacher is reading it to the class, and he happened to see it. He likes his teacher and loves dogs, so perhaps this culmination of influence will be that catalyst. or not.
I've already finished The Wanderer by Sharon Creech. Sophie is a young girl about to sail across the ocean with three uncles and two male cousins to visit their grandfather. It's a story about a girl getting to make her own decisions though not without having to put up a fight. It's about the family and about the idea of family as Sophie's story comes out. It's about the power in the act of fixing up the boat and setting sail to test people especially as this family is thrown together to actually perform this feat.
The Wanderer is also about the sea. Sophie is drawn to the sea in a way I can almost feel I understand. I've never spent that much time near the sea, and I've never been in it on a boat. All my sea experience involves freshwater. But seafaring adventures tend to make some of the best books in my opinion, and this one has become a favorite. It is a kid's book, ages whenever they can read on up to well past my few years. There's nothing questionable or violent or sexy in this book, and I may be wrong, but I kinda feel like Cody might be gay.
And speaking of Cody, he's the second narrator. Most of the book is Sophie's journal about the voyage. Throughout the book though we also get to read Cody's "dog-log." I enjoyed having the second point of view as well as a bit more of the family background. Even with Cody's dog-log the story is still Sophie's.
I hope Big Brother reads it. I'll definitely suggest it to him, and if I put off our next library visit just long enough he'll have read all his own and may be willing to give it a try. He picked four books total. He was already reading The Wizard of Oz, not a library book, as that's the book he was reading most recently at my house and is the one still on the dining table. He's also reading whichever Artemis Fowl book he's up to, and I had to go look next to his bed to remember that. Along with that Artemis Fowl he grabbed The 39 Clues, How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse, and The Land of the Silver Apples.
I won't bore you with all his books, but The Land of the Silver Apples is a sequel to a book that we actually own, Sea of Trolls, written by Nancy Farmer, and as I google I see that both books are part of a trilogy. Big Brother and I both enjoyed Sea of Trolls, so it looks like I have yet another option of reading material for the next three weeks.
I'm so happy to have paid off the library. I love going there. I love the librarians. I don't know about the people on the computers, though they do make me appreciate having one. This is not only one of the best things I've done for myself in a while, but it's also one of those habits that was always a good one. It's honestly been at least a year since we've been regular library users, and I'd say it may have been a good bit longer. I'm not delving into the story right now, but the main point is that I sucked in my pride and blew out whatever shame I'd built up in letting the situation get out of hand. The librarians, though shocked, were not mean when I humbly approached to find out exactly what I needed to do as the computer told them the full weight of my transgressions.
And just now, rereading and editing, that last paragraph has me forming a plan. Working my Saturday split shift I usually get about an hour break in the middle. I can ride to the downtown library for music and set whatever mood I want for the ensuing Saturday night shift. This is gonna be fun.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
round back
Alleys are suddenly THE cool place to have someone take pictures of your. They're so gritty and urban, and people I imagine come from the palatial and seriously suburban west side of town have been showing up in my alley lately. I kind of don't like all of them.
The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work. There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash. We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans. Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full. Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.
Our alley is very narrow. Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs. Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants. Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.
Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley. I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible. A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.
Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley. I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like. It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink. Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.
And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures. The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy. And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters. I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.
And of course you have the happy smiling couples. They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so. And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.
Then there are the random single people. You can't ever really know what they're doing or why. They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.
I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made. They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley. OMG, ya'll. Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .
And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece. It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.
I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?
The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work. There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash. We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans. Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full. Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.
Our alley is very narrow. Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs. Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants. Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.
Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley. I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible. A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.
Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley. I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like. It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink. Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.
And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures. The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy. And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters. I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.
And of course you have the happy smiling couples. They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so. And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.
Then there are the random single people. You can't ever really know what they're doing or why. They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.
I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made. They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley. OMG, ya'll. Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .
And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece. It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.
I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
phoning it in
After far to much time and money I've finally paid off the library and returned the books that kept getting misplaced only to turn up randomly to haunt me with my misdeed. I admire the grace of the three librarians I dealt with today in our return to being respectable users of the library.
I do feel like an ass, and have, for letting this thing get so bad, but at some point fines piled up to a point, and the two books were misplaced, and the fines got worse, and feeling at the time as if I just couldn't afford it. With school about to start again I know that the library will come in handy soon enough, and I'm just tired of not having a book to read.
Between the books at Momma's and those I still have left I've read nearly all of what we have that I want to read. There are a few of the boys' books I may or may not read, and most of what I have I've definitely read. I've even reread. I even almost read the Whoopie Goldberg book that I think might have come from Momma's grandmother. I got stuck on the fart chapter.
Box Turtle Bulletin has been posting a Daily Agenda featuring current news as well as bits of LGBT history. For instance, I learned a few days ago that James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924. I should mention that I also learned then of James Baldwin, and though he isn't the reason I so suddenly decided to finally take care of my library tab his first book, Go Tell It on the Mountain, is my own welcome back gift from them.
So far Big Brother has read two of his three books. He too has been rereading books, so I can only imagine how much he's wanted something new. I'm sometimes jealous of his ability to find time to read until I realize that's sometimes all I see him doing, and still I don't mind. He's now taken to having at least two books going, one at Momma's house and one here.
The Boy has long had two books going, but these have always been the books that Momma or I are reading as his bedtime book. There it's Farmer Boy, while here we're on to A Horse and his Boy at mine. Having begun to slowly start reading more on his own The Boy has a couple of books with bookmarks sticking out of them between here and Momma's, and he got two more books today, both of which he's read some of. They're also both about dogs. He also got a library card. Yay him!
I also depopsited my check, bought stamps, failed to find a wallet at the one store I bothered to visit, and did not even think about bicycle tires till too late to do anything. I definitely need to get into action about the tire. I've got a spot on my front tire that's ripped down to the bead, and though I think I'm okay for the most part, in reality I know that it won't take much to get through that.
I also took the boys for Mexican. We went to a local favorite and filled ourselves with all sorts of beef and tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa, and Big Brother even got a ceviche tostada but didn't eat the tortilla. I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes. Also I don't care for ceviche.
Then we came home and were lazy, and I've suddenly remembered that I was supposed to go to the store for cereal. It's now too late to bother with that, so I'll just have to get up in the morning and do something about it.
That's been my day so far. The boys have been quiet enough for long enough that I have to assume they're asleep. They should be, though they didn't do anything more today than ride around and wish I'd buy them something.
I do feel like an ass, and have, for letting this thing get so bad, but at some point fines piled up to a point, and the two books were misplaced, and the fines got worse, and feeling at the time as if I just couldn't afford it. With school about to start again I know that the library will come in handy soon enough, and I'm just tired of not having a book to read.
Between the books at Momma's and those I still have left I've read nearly all of what we have that I want to read. There are a few of the boys' books I may or may not read, and most of what I have I've definitely read. I've even reread. I even almost read the Whoopie Goldberg book that I think might have come from Momma's grandmother. I got stuck on the fart chapter.
Box Turtle Bulletin has been posting a Daily Agenda featuring current news as well as bits of LGBT history. For instance, I learned a few days ago that James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924. I should mention that I also learned then of James Baldwin, and though he isn't the reason I so suddenly decided to finally take care of my library tab his first book, Go Tell It on the Mountain, is my own welcome back gift from them.
So far Big Brother has read two of his three books. He too has been rereading books, so I can only imagine how much he's wanted something new. I'm sometimes jealous of his ability to find time to read until I realize that's sometimes all I see him doing, and still I don't mind. He's now taken to having at least two books going, one at Momma's house and one here.
The Boy has long had two books going, but these have always been the books that Momma or I are reading as his bedtime book. There it's Farmer Boy, while here we're on to A Horse and his Boy at mine. Having begun to slowly start reading more on his own The Boy has a couple of books with bookmarks sticking out of them between here and Momma's, and he got two more books today, both of which he's read some of. They're also both about dogs. He also got a library card. Yay him!
I also depopsited my check, bought stamps, failed to find a wallet at the one store I bothered to visit, and did not even think about bicycle tires till too late to do anything. I definitely need to get into action about the tire. I've got a spot on my front tire that's ripped down to the bead, and though I think I'm okay for the most part, in reality I know that it won't take much to get through that.
I also took the boys for Mexican. We went to a local favorite and filled ourselves with all sorts of beef and tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa, and Big Brother even got a ceviche tostada but didn't eat the tortilla. I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes. Also I don't care for ceviche.
Then we came home and were lazy, and I've suddenly remembered that I was supposed to go to the store for cereal. It's now too late to bother with that, so I'll just have to get up in the morning and do something about it.
That's been my day so far. The boys have been quiet enough for long enough that I have to assume they're asleep. They should be, though they didn't do anything more today than ride around and wish I'd buy them something.
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
they (maybe) should
It's one of those things people tend to say, people who aren't especially supportive of LGBT people, when they are discussing gay pride events. They might suggest that there should also be a straight pride event, and it probably draws chuckles of approval, though of course it doesn't happen.
It is even arguable that pretty much every day is straight pride. The few images we see of gay people in a positive light are the couple of sitcoms that have openly gay characters, but then those aren't people I admire or look to for affirmation. I don't watch Glee, though I have. It's not really that good a show, and it's not really that accurate for most gay kids. Also, if I want to hear actors singing Foreigner songs I'll . . . um, yeah, never want for that ever.
So what would happen if someone did in fact host/sponsor a straight pride event? We've never known because it's always been mentioned in an off the cuff joking sort of way.
Until now. According to Towleroad, religious leaders in Sao Paolo Brazil have decided to petition the government for just such an event, and the legislation has made it as far as the mayor. Will he sign it, or won't he?
Of more concern might be what would this event actually look like? I can't help but feel that part of the idea behind this would be to exclude gay people and to make a show of this exclusion. Gay pride, while possibly seeming to exclude people does just the opposite. An idea behind gay pride is simply increasing visibility of LGBT people, but another idea is to provide an outlet for all people to show their support for the equal rights of their gay friends and family members.
The few pride events I've attended have mostly been here in Knoxville, and they don't seem to feature a huge amount of straight people, but everyone who is open and fair minded is welcome. It's an inclusive gathering of people wanting to stand proudly and proclaim that everyone deserves fairness and equality. It's also a party and the only time outside of a gay bar that we can feel like we are in the majority. It does wonders to think of yourself surrounded by your community, and for so many it's a first.
So what could possibly be the point of hetero pride? It can't be welcoming and openness. It can't be support for a minority that is often mistreated and maligned.
But still I say go for it. What can it hurt? What do they hope to accomplish? Whatever their goals it's better that they are aired in the sunshine rather that to continue to grow in the malicious darkness.
It is even arguable that pretty much every day is straight pride. The few images we see of gay people in a positive light are the couple of sitcoms that have openly gay characters, but then those aren't people I admire or look to for affirmation. I don't watch Glee, though I have. It's not really that good a show, and it's not really that accurate for most gay kids. Also, if I want to hear actors singing Foreigner songs I'll . . . um, yeah, never want for that ever.
So what would happen if someone did in fact host/sponsor a straight pride event? We've never known because it's always been mentioned in an off the cuff joking sort of way.
Until now. According to Towleroad, religious leaders in Sao Paolo Brazil have decided to petition the government for just such an event, and the legislation has made it as far as the mayor. Will he sign it, or won't he?
Of more concern might be what would this event actually look like? I can't help but feel that part of the idea behind this would be to exclude gay people and to make a show of this exclusion. Gay pride, while possibly seeming to exclude people does just the opposite. An idea behind gay pride is simply increasing visibility of LGBT people, but another idea is to provide an outlet for all people to show their support for the equal rights of their gay friends and family members.
The few pride events I've attended have mostly been here in Knoxville, and they don't seem to feature a huge amount of straight people, but everyone who is open and fair minded is welcome. It's an inclusive gathering of people wanting to stand proudly and proclaim that everyone deserves fairness and equality. It's also a party and the only time outside of a gay bar that we can feel like we are in the majority. It does wonders to think of yourself surrounded by your community, and for so many it's a first.
So what could possibly be the point of hetero pride? It can't be welcoming and openness. It can't be support for a minority that is often mistreated and maligned.
But still I say go for it. What can it hurt? What do they hope to accomplish? Whatever their goals it's better that they are aired in the sunshine rather that to continue to grow in the malicious darkness.
uppity fags
All signs point to the likelihood that Lawrence King was gay. At fifteen he seemed pretty sure of it, and he seemed secure enough in himself to do what all teenagers do, play with self expression. But probably because he was gay his self expression led to playing with gender based expressions such as high heeled boots, scarves, pink nail polish.
Another kid around the same age, Brandon McInerney, had a big enough problem with Lawrence King that he eventually took a gun to school and shot him in the back of the head two times. And now a couple of years later he's finally being tried.
I've avoided this subject for the last couple of years because too often when I consider my opinion I can't help but think of them both as children when this happened. They both had a rough childhood with significant family issues. I'm no expert on this situation, though I'll also admit that I could never give all the links to all the posts I've read about this since it happened. I can't imagine at fifteen you don't know what a gunshot to the back of the head means, but I can't accept that a fifteen year old has the same mental competency as an adult who one can argue at least has grown up enough to understand consequences, and I can't imagine the input of the people around him to bring him to where he was.
McInerney's lawyers have already introduced the gay panic defense. Gay panic, for anyone unsure, is what happens when a hapless heterosexual is preyed upon by a perverse homosexual, and because gay=awful, they couldn't help but react by beating the crap out of said homosexual. I think it has a cousin in the idea that women dressed inappropriately invite rape. See also, "If he hadna been all faggoty and shit I wouldna had to whoop his ass. He's askin fer it being all faggoty."
Which brings me, in a long and winding sort of fashion, to this article from Ventura County Star. Several teachers have admitted to having done nothing to stop this other than to make Lawrence King stop being so faggoty. He was told to remove a scarf, makeup, and nail polish at different times, and a teacher worried that he was going to be dragged behind a shed and beaten to death.
They complain that the lesbian principle made it all okay and didn't listen to them when they tried to warn her that Lawrence King was asking for a whoopin'. They blame her for not being aware of the problems.
I blame them all for letting the students be bullies and especially bullies to someone who was obviously struggling. This poor little boy who so obviously needed for the people around him to stop chasing him and hitting and pushing him wanted what every other fifteen year old wants, to make sense of an increasingly peculiar world, or maybe that's just us gays.
The article ends in a very telling fashion with this question and answer between a teacher and the DA:
Another kid around the same age, Brandon McInerney, had a big enough problem with Lawrence King that he eventually took a gun to school and shot him in the back of the head two times. And now a couple of years later he's finally being tried.
I've avoided this subject for the last couple of years because too often when I consider my opinion I can't help but think of them both as children when this happened. They both had a rough childhood with significant family issues. I'm no expert on this situation, though I'll also admit that I could never give all the links to all the posts I've read about this since it happened. I can't imagine at fifteen you don't know what a gunshot to the back of the head means, but I can't accept that a fifteen year old has the same mental competency as an adult who one can argue at least has grown up enough to understand consequences, and I can't imagine the input of the people around him to bring him to where he was.
McInerney's lawyers have already introduced the gay panic defense. Gay panic, for anyone unsure, is what happens when a hapless heterosexual is preyed upon by a perverse homosexual, and because gay=awful, they couldn't help but react by beating the crap out of said homosexual. I think it has a cousin in the idea that women dressed inappropriately invite rape. See also, "If he hadna been all faggoty and shit I wouldna had to whoop his ass. He's askin fer it being all faggoty."
Which brings me, in a long and winding sort of fashion, to this article from Ventura County Star. Several teachers have admitted to having done nothing to stop this other than to make Lawrence King stop being so faggoty. He was told to remove a scarf, makeup, and nail polish at different times, and a teacher worried that he was going to be dragged behind a shed and beaten to death.
They complain that the lesbian principle made it all okay and didn't listen to them when they tried to warn her that Lawrence King was asking for a whoopin'. They blame her for not being aware of the problems.
I blame them all for letting the students be bullies and especially bullies to someone who was obviously struggling. This poor little boy who so obviously needed for the people around him to stop chasing him and hitting and pushing him wanted what every other fifteen year old wants, to make sense of an increasingly peculiar world, or maybe that's just us gays.
The article ends in a very telling fashion with this question and answer between a teacher and the DA:
Brown said she once saw a group of boys chasing King, which she described as a potentially unpleasant situation. Fox asked her if she stepped in to stop the chasing.
"No," Brown said.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
not like the other . . . yet again
Moments ago, The Boy put his book down and asked if his bath was ready. He apparently didn't actually make it to the bath. I can hear him playing with Big Brother.
I'm going to step away for a moment and remind him of his cooling bath water and will take up right there when I get back.
And I return, several hours later, having washed hair, allowed computer time, and texted Big Brother. I thought he was in his room, and I wanted to tell him his brother was out of the bath and that he needed to get into the shower. He was already in the bathroom though occupied in other pursuits at the time.
And all of that is finally done, they are in bed, yet I can still hear them talking. I'm not even a little worried, but we do need to start soon getting ourselves back to school hours.
I mentioned earlier that The Boy's bath was ready, and I came back into the living room and told him so. He was sprawled on the sofa reading an Akiko book.
Big Brother is a somewhat self taught devourer of books and words. He's been reading since he was four and with little prodding on the part of me or Momma. We have always been available and willing, but we've always tried, in that true unschooling spirit, to not help when it wasn't wanted or helpful.
With The Boy we wanted to be the same, but like so many kids he just wasn't into it in the same way. He really didn't want help unless he did and then only on his sometimes (always) strict and difficult to understand terms, so all the lessons we thought we'd learned with his brother were of no use. We remained available and willing, but he always seemed as if he knew he could put it off and that we'd continue to help him.
With the boys' transition last winter from unschool to public school, lots of things changed, and one of those changes was that The Boy, so far a slightly interested, beginning reader was having to read and to learn to read very suddenly. And he took to it like a pirate to booty. He brought the books home that he'd worked on at school, and he sat and worked on them and read them to us.
He still sometimes would prefer to have some reading done for him, but he's been doing it for himself as well. He attempted to read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea recently and didn't get very far. I'd playfully suggested it one day, knowing that he'd likely enjoy the story but that the language would likely be a bit much for him. He did ask me to read the first chapter for him.
He also spent some time reading the Frog and Toad books recently, but I don't know that he ever really read them. They went from one house to the other a couple of times, but each time they seemed to sit in the same place until they traveled again.
I've suggested he read any number of books over the past few weeks. I don't want him to have to relearn anything as he enters school again, but as importantly I want him to realize joy in reading. Mostly I suggest books when the code words "I'm bored" actually mean, "it sure would be nice to play some video games."
Also, he does love a good story. His bed time reading is The Silver Chair at my house, and at Momma's house they're reading Farmer Boy. The Silver Chair is one of the Narnia books, while Farmer Boy is Almonzo Wilder's childhood before he goes west and meets Laura Ingalls.
And tonight, even though it was bath time, and even though I worried I'd have a cold bath to rewarm, I let him read. It took him a while to read through the first chapter, but he did, and maybe he'll remember tomorrow that Akiko has just set out on an adventure, and maybe he'll be interested enough to continue the story.
I don't care if he becomes the reader his brother is, but I want him to read. It really is the best thing since whatever was before sliced bread. But then I'd argue that sliced bread isn't that great an invention, but that just opens the door for all sorts of nonsense about expediency versus quality along with the increasing pace of our lives. And I'm just not doing that one right now.
My point is that he sat (sprawled, knees and elbows everywhere) and read the kind of book you need a bookmark for. I'll rewarm a bath for that.
p.s. I hate using the phrase "worked on" along with the word "reading," but it really is apt. It just makes it sound so . . . and has connotations of all the evil gschool stuff one might have heard me preach not so long ago.
I'm going to step away for a moment and remind him of his cooling bath water and will take up right there when I get back.
And I return, several hours later, having washed hair, allowed computer time, and texted Big Brother. I thought he was in his room, and I wanted to tell him his brother was out of the bath and that he needed to get into the shower. He was already in the bathroom though occupied in other pursuits at the time.
And all of that is finally done, they are in bed, yet I can still hear them talking. I'm not even a little worried, but we do need to start soon getting ourselves back to school hours.
I mentioned earlier that The Boy's bath was ready, and I came back into the living room and told him so. He was sprawled on the sofa reading an Akiko book.
Big Brother is a somewhat self taught devourer of books and words. He's been reading since he was four and with little prodding on the part of me or Momma. We have always been available and willing, but we've always tried, in that true unschooling spirit, to not help when it wasn't wanted or helpful.
With The Boy we wanted to be the same, but like so many kids he just wasn't into it in the same way. He really didn't want help unless he did and then only on his sometimes (always) strict and difficult to understand terms, so all the lessons we thought we'd learned with his brother were of no use. We remained available and willing, but he always seemed as if he knew he could put it off and that we'd continue to help him.
With the boys' transition last winter from unschool to public school, lots of things changed, and one of those changes was that The Boy, so far a slightly interested, beginning reader was having to read and to learn to read very suddenly. And he took to it like a pirate to booty. He brought the books home that he'd worked on at school, and he sat and worked on them and read them to us.
He still sometimes would prefer to have some reading done for him, but he's been doing it for himself as well. He attempted to read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea recently and didn't get very far. I'd playfully suggested it one day, knowing that he'd likely enjoy the story but that the language would likely be a bit much for him. He did ask me to read the first chapter for him.
He also spent some time reading the Frog and Toad books recently, but I don't know that he ever really read them. They went from one house to the other a couple of times, but each time they seemed to sit in the same place until they traveled again.
I've suggested he read any number of books over the past few weeks. I don't want him to have to relearn anything as he enters school again, but as importantly I want him to realize joy in reading. Mostly I suggest books when the code words "I'm bored" actually mean, "it sure would be nice to play some video games."
Also, he does love a good story. His bed time reading is The Silver Chair at my house, and at Momma's house they're reading Farmer Boy. The Silver Chair is one of the Narnia books, while Farmer Boy is Almonzo Wilder's childhood before he goes west and meets Laura Ingalls.
And tonight, even though it was bath time, and even though I worried I'd have a cold bath to rewarm, I let him read. It took him a while to read through the first chapter, but he did, and maybe he'll remember tomorrow that Akiko has just set out on an adventure, and maybe he'll be interested enough to continue the story.
I don't care if he becomes the reader his brother is, but I want him to read. It really is the best thing since whatever was before sliced bread. But then I'd argue that sliced bread isn't that great an invention, but that just opens the door for all sorts of nonsense about expediency versus quality along with the increasing pace of our lives. And I'm just not doing that one right now.
My point is that he sat (sprawled, knees and elbows everywhere) and read the kind of book you need a bookmark for. I'll rewarm a bath for that.
p.s. I hate using the phrase "worked on" along with the word "reading," but it really is apt. It just makes it sound so . . . and has connotations of all the evil gschool stuff one might have heard me preach not so long ago.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Bike and test
If this works you can see a pic of my bike. I've published a test post using my mobile device before, but I'm now testing an app that I hope makes this easier. Also I'm working on getting his blog back to some kinda something again.
fights in fridges
Yes, it's noon here in beautiful (if humid) east TN, and yes, I've been up for about an hour. I have made coffee, pooped, smoked, checked my phone, cleaned the two refrigerator shelves I've been ignoring for far too long, wiped out inside same refrigerator, and found a small sword stuck into part of the vent system.
Relax, it's a Playmobile sword, so the danger is minimal, but still . . .
I asked the boys about it, but neither of them remembers playing with Playmobile toys in there, and certainly neither remembers leaving a sword. It may well remain a mystery for the ages, but I would like to know who's been fighting in the fridge.
Relax, it's a Playmobile sword, so the danger is minimal, but still . . .
I asked the boys about it, but neither of them remembers playing with Playmobile toys in there, and certainly neither remembers leaving a sword. It may well remain a mystery for the ages, but I would like to know who's been fighting in the fridge.
like a something doing something
I've always edited for content those things I've sent out into the world before. I may have not always edited or chosen as well as I could, but I've also set myself up as being better than I really am in real life.
I'm not nearly as soft spoken or as well thought out. There isn't much of a filter out with friends or even at work. Work is easy because we're all a bunch of losers on our way to hell anyway. Actually we're a fairly random sampling sort of place with too many people who are in bands. It'll be hell night at work if they all played a show together.
I also talk a lot at work, and probably you can't really imagine what a lot means in this little story, but it's a near constant aural barrage on my coworkers running the gamut from t.v. theme songs from my childhood to a constant dissing of any music playing that I don't like which is tempered by my witty way of sometimes singing with rather bawdy false lyrics replacing the actual ones. I also might sometimes be a little forward with some of the male servers.
In all these instances my desire is to amuse, to give a worthy laughing dialogue to a sometimes monotonous yet often horrific duty in our kitchen and dining areas. And as for being sometimes too friendly to the boys, I must say I think it's part of my job to let them actually know a homo and to be forced to deal with me on my terms so that they are nudged toward the realization that gay people are just as obnoxious and normal as they are and to get over any lingering nonsense.
I include nearly anyone in my joking and say things that are often over the line of decency, but my intent is never to hurt anyone, and when people realize that I'm really a decent guy they tend to cut me more slack than I deserve probably. On some level I like to make sure that as many people take the fall as I can possibly squeeze in. We all have some stereotype we can fit, and it's my job to remind everyone that it's only funny if anyone can fit into it. Or I'm just making that up to pump myself up.
So we finally get to the point of my meandering. Bob Vander Plaats runs a "family" group in Iowa that thinks that gay people are really not good at all. He's a far right social conservative that led a campaign to have judges removed from office because they voted to allow marriage equality in Iowa. He's on a mission from god to be as big a douche as he's capable of to gay people.
He was caught on video reacting to a joke that suggested that in Iowa one is unable to enjoy a cigarette but that loving gay couples are allowed to marry. I'm lifting the story from Box Turtle Bulletin, so click on their name for their take on the matter and more of the story plus links to why this guy Bob is an ass and why they hate the joke and his laughter. They also have video.
I don't get the joke at all. I'm not from Iowa, though I do have an aunt and uncle and possibly some cousins there. I met them once many years ago, and they seemed like decent people.
To be honest the actual joke goes as such, in Iowa you can't smoke a fag, but you can marry one. And perhaps my not being of Iowan heritage I'm unaware of some nuance that renders this joke unfunny to me. And that's why I hate it.
Oh, I also hate that the guy laughing at the joke isn't getting it either. I'm sure you can still smoke cigarettes in Iowa . . .
. . . unless the meaning of the joke is that it's unlawful to use a firearm to shoot a homosexual. That might be another nuance of the joke as "to smoke" is popular parlance for shooting someone or something with a firearm. That totally moves the joke along, because then you're suggesting that actually shooting someone for being gay is cleverly juxtaposed against basic human dignity and equality.
Wow, now I get why it's funny. Man do I feel silly.
I'm not nearly as soft spoken or as well thought out. There isn't much of a filter out with friends or even at work. Work is easy because we're all a bunch of losers on our way to hell anyway. Actually we're a fairly random sampling sort of place with too many people who are in bands. It'll be hell night at work if they all played a show together.
I also talk a lot at work, and probably you can't really imagine what a lot means in this little story, but it's a near constant aural barrage on my coworkers running the gamut from t.v. theme songs from my childhood to a constant dissing of any music playing that I don't like which is tempered by my witty way of sometimes singing with rather bawdy false lyrics replacing the actual ones. I also might sometimes be a little forward with some of the male servers.
In all these instances my desire is to amuse, to give a worthy laughing dialogue to a sometimes monotonous yet often horrific duty in our kitchen and dining areas. And as for being sometimes too friendly to the boys, I must say I think it's part of my job to let them actually know a homo and to be forced to deal with me on my terms so that they are nudged toward the realization that gay people are just as obnoxious and normal as they are and to get over any lingering nonsense.
I include nearly anyone in my joking and say things that are often over the line of decency, but my intent is never to hurt anyone, and when people realize that I'm really a decent guy they tend to cut me more slack than I deserve probably. On some level I like to make sure that as many people take the fall as I can possibly squeeze in. We all have some stereotype we can fit, and it's my job to remind everyone that it's only funny if anyone can fit into it. Or I'm just making that up to pump myself up.
So we finally get to the point of my meandering. Bob Vander Plaats runs a "family" group in Iowa that thinks that gay people are really not good at all. He's a far right social conservative that led a campaign to have judges removed from office because they voted to allow marriage equality in Iowa. He's on a mission from god to be as big a douche as he's capable of to gay people.
He was caught on video reacting to a joke that suggested that in Iowa one is unable to enjoy a cigarette but that loving gay couples are allowed to marry. I'm lifting the story from Box Turtle Bulletin, so click on their name for their take on the matter and more of the story plus links to why this guy Bob is an ass and why they hate the joke and his laughter. They also have video.
I don't get the joke at all. I'm not from Iowa, though I do have an aunt and uncle and possibly some cousins there. I met them once many years ago, and they seemed like decent people.
To be honest the actual joke goes as such, in Iowa you can't smoke a fag, but you can marry one. And perhaps my not being of Iowan heritage I'm unaware of some nuance that renders this joke unfunny to me. And that's why I hate it.
Oh, I also hate that the guy laughing at the joke isn't getting it either. I'm sure you can still smoke cigarettes in Iowa . . .
. . . unless the meaning of the joke is that it's unlawful to use a firearm to shoot a homosexual. That might be another nuance of the joke as "to smoke" is popular parlance for shooting someone or something with a firearm. That totally moves the joke along, because then you're suggesting that actually shooting someone for being gay is cleverly juxtaposed against basic human dignity and equality.
Wow, now I get why it's funny. Man do I feel silly.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
oooh, weather
Our fifty percent chance of thunderstorms is fast becoming one hundred percent. At two thirty in the afternoon the clouds outside make it look more like seven thirty.
The rain is falling as heavily as it likely soon will be, and the wind is strong but only in short bursts as of yet.
Even so you can almost hear, somewhere in the distance, the worst that is yet to come.
The rain is falling as heavily as it likely soon will be, and the wind is strong but only in short bursts as of yet.
Even so you can almost hear, somewhere in the distance, the worst that is yet to come.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Monday, May 09, 2011
gonna bitch about it
I almost don't wanna even bother. I haven't posted in ages, and I haven't even been online on the ol' trusty desktop in days. I even turned the damn thing off a few days ago knowing I wouldn't see it for at least most of two days, and then I managed to add at least a day to that.
I do have my fancy new phone, however the battery life has left something to be desired. Finally getting near the desktop however may have fixed all that for me. I googled my problem and visited some forums and went via the phone to the Android market for what I hope is a fix.
I also took the boys out for dinner tonight, and this why I actually sat down to write. The experience was one of the worst and the best I've had out in a long time.
It was the worst because my food was ruined. The server put our food down, I didn't quite look at it, though I did make sure we had everything and it was all in its proper place.
And then I looked at the plate in front of me. Immediately I saw that my sweet potato chips looked mostly burnt, though picking through them later I realized that not more than about thirty percent were REALLY burnt. Most of the rest were merely overdone.
I pointed this out to the server, and he brought me a new unburned order as quickly as he was able. And here's a little sidetrack that's sorta helpful.
Over the years I've taken part in a useless battle that occurs in far too many restaurants, a battle that pits the front and back of house against each other. It's usually the kitchen that makes this battle ever happen at all, but then the servers are forced to deal with it the best they can.
And often this might mean that the server would rather face an unhappy customer with food that's obviously not right than mention to the kitchen what he/she can too easily see. Or maybe they're used to seeing the food that way and don't get that it's burnt, or maybe they see it and don't give a shit.
Worse is that someone in the kitchen was willing to send this out. They cooked food for too long and made it suck, but rather than throw it away and do it right, they tossed it on the plate and sent it out. They couldn't have not know that they made bad food.
I put my chicken sandwich together and cut it in half. It was a whole boneless, skinless breast, both lobes, and they were still attached via the bit of cartilege between them. That bothers me, but I'm not going to be a dick about that. It's a matter of taste.
I bit into the sandwich and once again knew immediately that it too was over done. I hoped that it was just a little tough because I started at the thinner end, but too soon I was into the thicker meat and was having to rip bites out, and the chicken was pulling out of the bun, and the sandwich was essentially inedible. If I'd cooked it for myself, and if I suddenly forgot how to cook and made it this bad, I'd have eaten it. I'm not really one to waste food.
But I'm not paying for food that is so poorly done. I couldn't eat the sandwich, and I really tried. After not catching the server's eye for far too long I was finally able to lodge my complaint. He took the plate of over done food away and spoke with the manager who was kind enough to not make me pay.
He didn't talk to me. He didn't offer to do anything to make me feel better, and I don't really know what I would have wanted of him. I didn't eat the food, and he didn't make me pay for the bad parts. I left the store unsatisfied, having not gotten anywhere close to what I wanted despite my willingness as a customer.
And now I'm hungry, and I shouldn't be, and because I haven't been at the house much for a couple of days or so there really isn't anything here to eat. That's entirely my fault.
By this point the kids were done eating. I wasn't going to make them sit and wait for me to get and eat a new entree, and I wasn't willing to sit and wait and then pay for food when my experience had been so marred.
But then we sat at the table. I munched on the bowl of not burned chips and the extra side of fries I let The Boy get since we were out for his birthday. He didn't like his other side, black beans, but because it wasn't what he expected, but I enjoyed them and brought them with the other leftovers.
We had a really nice time as we sat and waited. I had to pay the bill and finish a beer, and they were both not quite impatient and sooo ready to go just yet. And it was a really nice time. The munching had taken the edge off my hunger, so my mood had been helped by that, and the boys were both full and happy.
And we just hung out for a little bit. We chatted. I saw pictures that Big Brother took with his phone at his school's cultural fair. I even got to see a picture of some kid's rendition of Abraham Lincoln leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt.
It was cool in the end.
I do have my fancy new phone, however the battery life has left something to be desired. Finally getting near the desktop however may have fixed all that for me. I googled my problem and visited some forums and went via the phone to the Android market for what I hope is a fix.
I also took the boys out for dinner tonight, and this why I actually sat down to write. The experience was one of the worst and the best I've had out in a long time.
It was the worst because my food was ruined. The server put our food down, I didn't quite look at it, though I did make sure we had everything and it was all in its proper place.
And then I looked at the plate in front of me. Immediately I saw that my sweet potato chips looked mostly burnt, though picking through them later I realized that not more than about thirty percent were REALLY burnt. Most of the rest were merely overdone.
I pointed this out to the server, and he brought me a new unburned order as quickly as he was able. And here's a little sidetrack that's sorta helpful.
Over the years I've taken part in a useless battle that occurs in far too many restaurants, a battle that pits the front and back of house against each other. It's usually the kitchen that makes this battle ever happen at all, but then the servers are forced to deal with it the best they can.
And often this might mean that the server would rather face an unhappy customer with food that's obviously not right than mention to the kitchen what he/she can too easily see. Or maybe they're used to seeing the food that way and don't get that it's burnt, or maybe they see it and don't give a shit.
Worse is that someone in the kitchen was willing to send this out. They cooked food for too long and made it suck, but rather than throw it away and do it right, they tossed it on the plate and sent it out. They couldn't have not know that they made bad food.
I put my chicken sandwich together and cut it in half. It was a whole boneless, skinless breast, both lobes, and they were still attached via the bit of cartilege between them. That bothers me, but I'm not going to be a dick about that. It's a matter of taste.
I bit into the sandwich and once again knew immediately that it too was over done. I hoped that it was just a little tough because I started at the thinner end, but too soon I was into the thicker meat and was having to rip bites out, and the chicken was pulling out of the bun, and the sandwich was essentially inedible. If I'd cooked it for myself, and if I suddenly forgot how to cook and made it this bad, I'd have eaten it. I'm not really one to waste food.
But I'm not paying for food that is so poorly done. I couldn't eat the sandwich, and I really tried. After not catching the server's eye for far too long I was finally able to lodge my complaint. He took the plate of over done food away and spoke with the manager who was kind enough to not make me pay.
He didn't talk to me. He didn't offer to do anything to make me feel better, and I don't really know what I would have wanted of him. I didn't eat the food, and he didn't make me pay for the bad parts. I left the store unsatisfied, having not gotten anywhere close to what I wanted despite my willingness as a customer.
And now I'm hungry, and I shouldn't be, and because I haven't been at the house much for a couple of days or so there really isn't anything here to eat. That's entirely my fault.
By this point the kids were done eating. I wasn't going to make them sit and wait for me to get and eat a new entree, and I wasn't willing to sit and wait and then pay for food when my experience had been so marred.
But then we sat at the table. I munched on the bowl of not burned chips and the extra side of fries I let The Boy get since we were out for his birthday. He didn't like his other side, black beans, but because it wasn't what he expected, but I enjoyed them and brought them with the other leftovers.
We had a really nice time as we sat and waited. I had to pay the bill and finish a beer, and they were both not quite impatient and sooo ready to go just yet. And it was a really nice time. The munching had taken the edge off my hunger, so my mood had been helped by that, and the boys were both full and happy.
And we just hung out for a little bit. We chatted. I saw pictures that Big Brother took with his phone at his school's cultural fair. I even got to see a picture of some kid's rendition of Abraham Lincoln leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt.
It was cool in the end.
Monday, May 02, 2011
kilt the sumbitch
I have a few thoughts on the apparent killing of Osama bin Laden. And I'm going to share.
I got off work yesterday (Sunday May 1, fwiw) about four, got a beer at the bar, and sat on the patio in front of work. I drank a couple of beers and hung out with various other work and/or downtown people waiting for the evening and a surprise going away party for a coworker.
The party was held in the upstairs of a bar a few feet away, so I didn't really get too far from the same place all day. I may have ridden from one parking garage to another and back to reorient my senses, but that really has nothing to do with Osama or his recent death.
Later on in the night, the party had gone from SUPRISE! to the band playing and people milling about, many of us having moved to the patio as the upstairs is non smoking.
At some point, after having walked down an alley for no good reason I returned and heard chatter about our having killed Osama bin Laden.
My first thoughts in the random number generator that is my head involved, who care? are you sure? and then I went off on some other tangents that have solidified more today as I thought about it all less drunk.
Some of the fun last night was just messing with people, and some of these people, generally sane seeming in normal life, were growing a little upset that I was willing to attempt to detract from the gravity of the situation. Other, possibly drunker people, cheered on when I shouted, "Hell yeah! We killed Obama bin Muslim."
I tried it today and everyone got it immediately, so it could have been late night at a bar, but it still makes me laugh.
I also don't attach a lot of importance to some brown guy with a beard and a long white shirt from the other side of the world. I just can't accept that he has that much power over us. Sure, if the new stories are correctly presenting the situation, Osama got a few good licks in. The the US got serious about hunting him down, and since then he hasn't able to do too damn much, though his organization has apparently kept several country's military arms fairly busy.
And finally, the things that solidified in my head over the course of this morning. I truly believe that people like Newt Gingrich and Mike Huckabee pose a far greater threat to our liberty than any Islamic terrorist.
solidified thing no. 2-There are people who look to Osama as a hero and likely now a martyr. Perhaps they do hate us freedom loving Americans. I don't hate them. I don't know them, and I think if I were to meet them they might rethink their own feelings. Or maybe they don't really hate us. Maybe they look at things our country has done, or perhaps they feel as if they've been mistreated by our country. I can't know what's in their hearts, but I have to assume they are generally sincere in their beliefs. Perhaps if we talked we could find a middle ground. I don't know. But certainly they hurt when we kill them just as we hurt when they kill us, and neither side seems to have fixed anything even now. There may well be better news tomorrow.
I got off work yesterday (Sunday May 1, fwiw) about four, got a beer at the bar, and sat on the patio in front of work. I drank a couple of beers and hung out with various other work and/or downtown people waiting for the evening and a surprise going away party for a coworker.
The party was held in the upstairs of a bar a few feet away, so I didn't really get too far from the same place all day. I may have ridden from one parking garage to another and back to reorient my senses, but that really has nothing to do with Osama or his recent death.
Later on in the night, the party had gone from SUPRISE! to the band playing and people milling about, many of us having moved to the patio as the upstairs is non smoking.
At some point, after having walked down an alley for no good reason I returned and heard chatter about our having killed Osama bin Laden.
My first thoughts in the random number generator that is my head involved, who care? are you sure? and then I went off on some other tangents that have solidified more today as I thought about it all less drunk.
Some of the fun last night was just messing with people, and some of these people, generally sane seeming in normal life, were growing a little upset that I was willing to attempt to detract from the gravity of the situation. Other, possibly drunker people, cheered on when I shouted, "Hell yeah! We killed Obama bin Muslim."
I tried it today and everyone got it immediately, so it could have been late night at a bar, but it still makes me laugh.
I also don't attach a lot of importance to some brown guy with a beard and a long white shirt from the other side of the world. I just can't accept that he has that much power over us. Sure, if the new stories are correctly presenting the situation, Osama got a few good licks in. The the US got serious about hunting him down, and since then he hasn't able to do too damn much, though his organization has apparently kept several country's military arms fairly busy.
And finally, the things that solidified in my head over the course of this morning. I truly believe that people like Newt Gingrich and Mike Huckabee pose a far greater threat to our liberty than any Islamic terrorist.
solidified thing no. 2-There are people who look to Osama as a hero and likely now a martyr. Perhaps they do hate us freedom loving Americans. I don't hate them. I don't know them, and I think if I were to meet them they might rethink their own feelings. Or maybe they don't really hate us. Maybe they look at things our country has done, or perhaps they feel as if they've been mistreated by our country. I can't know what's in their hearts, but I have to assume they are generally sincere in their beliefs. Perhaps if we talked we could find a middle ground. I don't know. But certainly they hurt when we kill them just as we hurt when they kill us, and neither side seems to have fixed anything even now. There may well be better news tomorrow.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
learn where you can
The title of this post may be misleading to any long time readers. This post is not about homeschooling or school or anything like that, and it isn't about children learning.
It's about me, and you may already know that I've joined the dark side and purchased a pair of Crocs to wear to work. If I'd gone to the cool shoe store in the mall first I could have saved some other store visits and some time spent at the mall, a place I generally loathe.
I've been anti Croc for some time now. When the damn things first showed up a few years back I hated them and swore I'd never darken a pair with my feet. Having worked in kitchens I'v been around my share of clogs, and then Crocs started showing up there as well.
I swore by a good pair of boots for years as my kitchen shoe of choice, and then I realized that a stout shoe worked as well and that I didn't miss the whole ankle support thing. I've been through my share of both over the years, wearing out more pairs of shoes than I care to remember.
And then recently I may have spent some time pacing in circles in a sort of detention facility, and my current home county may provide inmates with orange, fake crocs to pace circles in.
And while I hate to admit that my epiphany happened here, I didn't hate the shoes. In fact I started to understand why so many coworkers wore these type of shoes.
And then I had some foot issues for the past week and change, and my latest kitchen shoes made the problem worse. They are also slowly falling apart, wearing through at each intersection of stitching that holds the different pieces of leather together. I've been in the market to be in the market for new shoes for a couple of months at least, but I've put off actually looking because of time and because I can be cheap and want to get every last bit of wear out of a pair of shoes.
The shoes I'm currently wearing are old Converse that, when new, were my all time faves, and which have been worn solely while mowing the grass for the last four years. They're also loose and forgiving of the aforementioned foot issue while my newer non work shoes will likely be the last pair of narrow Converse I ever buy. I just can't deal with them anymore, and they were also not friendly to the foot issue.
So that's my story. I work at nine in the a.m. tomorrow, and I'll take the Crocs on their initial run then. I may hate them seven to eight hours later when I get off work, or I may have fallen in love with these things I so derided such a short time ago. Maybe I'll bore your asses off with that tale tomorrow night.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
wouldn't it be nice
The following was posted on Facebook as a friend's status. I started to make my own points about each of these fond memories, but I don't have it in me to be that guy to this particular person. So I'm calling blog fodder and bitching it out here. Also, it's not about bikes for the most part.
Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.
But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.
As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.
You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.
We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.
Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.
Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.
I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.
Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.
There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.
If you grew up on home cooked meals, you rode a bike with no helmet, your parents house was not "child-proof" , you got a whippin' when you misbehaved, had 3 TV channels you got up to change or went outside to turn the antenna, school started with the Pledge of Allegiance, stores were closed on Sunday, you drank water out of a water hose and still turned out okay, re-post this and show that you survived.I grew up on home cooked meals for the most part. My mother's repertoire was varied somewhat, and for the most part I'd say it was basically basic American (USA edition) with a strong southern bent. I may well know how to cook a lot more things than she ever needed, but what she cooked was always good. Her own mother apparently was never much of a cook, so my own mother was essentially self taught. Other than liver night I have no complaints about her cooking.
Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.
But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.
As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.
You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.
We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.
Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.
Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.
I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.
Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.
There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
adding to the list
At some point last night I wrote a post. As is my usual habit I walked outside to smoke before editing and fixing and posting, and I never got around to posting it. And now I probably never will.
But I will tell you some of what it said. Also, are you tired of bike talk yet?
Leaving work yesterday I stopped in at the downtown bike shop to learn that my new stem will be in today, that I can bring the bike in today and likely pick it up tomorrow with new handlebars. They didn't have any helmets that I like.
I rode a few minutes down the road to the next nearest bike shop and also didn't find any helmets that I liked, but I did find the bike that I thought might be just right for Big Brother, so I continued riding to Momma's house where I locked my bike to her front porch rail and took The Boy and Momma's car to go pick up Big Brother from school.
From there we went back to the bike shop so Big Brother could voice an opinion and perhaps choose from the available models within our price range. The one road bike they had was really sweet looking and too small for me and sort of pink looking. It actually looked like it had once been red but had faded to pink, as Big Brother pointed out, also mentioning that he nonetheless still didn't want a pink bike.
He did like the Schwinn mountain bike that looks an awful lot like a slightly smaller version of mine but in black, dark gray, and yellow. While the back tire is knobby, the front tire is the type I'd considered looking at for my mountain bike before letting the mania talk me into the road bike.
Our next shopping adventure was to Kmart for a helmet and bike lock and a pair of inner tubes for the bike we already have that I hope The Boy will learn to ride on. He has a pretty cool big wheel that he's loved riding the past couple of years, but the bike mania is at least a little contagious it seems.
This morning, as the boys were eating breakfast, I handed Big Brother the instructions that came with his helmet so that he could adjust it properly for his head. He was working on that when I drove The Boy to school, and was wearing it and ready to go when I arrived back home about ten minutes later.
The weather was a bit chilly, and though he rode the bike a bit both before we bought it and after we brought it home, it's a bit new to him still. It's a great fit for him, but he's used to a BMX bike and also hasn't ridden since before winter.
I trailed him to school and did that thing I do where I probably talk to much and try to help too much. He was a little skittish facing downhill and didn't want to go too fast. I kept having to slow down and not run him over. And overall it was a really nice way to start the day. Google maps is telling me it's 1.3 miles and should take me six minutes. We easily doubled the time, but that's fine of course.
And now I'm off to run errands. Deposit a check, bike stuff, something to eat, home, laundry that needs to be folded, pick up The Boy from school, look out the window for Big Brother riding by himself. I'm sure I've forgotten something.
But I will tell you some of what it said. Also, are you tired of bike talk yet?
Leaving work yesterday I stopped in at the downtown bike shop to learn that my new stem will be in today, that I can bring the bike in today and likely pick it up tomorrow with new handlebars. They didn't have any helmets that I like.
I rode a few minutes down the road to the next nearest bike shop and also didn't find any helmets that I liked, but I did find the bike that I thought might be just right for Big Brother, so I continued riding to Momma's house where I locked my bike to her front porch rail and took The Boy and Momma's car to go pick up Big Brother from school.
From there we went back to the bike shop so Big Brother could voice an opinion and perhaps choose from the available models within our price range. The one road bike they had was really sweet looking and too small for me and sort of pink looking. It actually looked like it had once been red but had faded to pink, as Big Brother pointed out, also mentioning that he nonetheless still didn't want a pink bike.
He did like the Schwinn mountain bike that looks an awful lot like a slightly smaller version of mine but in black, dark gray, and yellow. While the back tire is knobby, the front tire is the type I'd considered looking at for my mountain bike before letting the mania talk me into the road bike.
Our next shopping adventure was to Kmart for a helmet and bike lock and a pair of inner tubes for the bike we already have that I hope The Boy will learn to ride on. He has a pretty cool big wheel that he's loved riding the past couple of years, but the bike mania is at least a little contagious it seems.
This morning, as the boys were eating breakfast, I handed Big Brother the instructions that came with his helmet so that he could adjust it properly for his head. He was working on that when I drove The Boy to school, and was wearing it and ready to go when I arrived back home about ten minutes later.
The weather was a bit chilly, and though he rode the bike a bit both before we bought it and after we brought it home, it's a bit new to him still. It's a great fit for him, but he's used to a BMX bike and also hasn't ridden since before winter.
I trailed him to school and did that thing I do where I probably talk to much and try to help too much. He was a little skittish facing downhill and didn't want to go too fast. I kept having to slow down and not run him over. And overall it was a really nice way to start the day. Google maps is telling me it's 1.3 miles and should take me six minutes. We easily doubled the time, but that's fine of course.
And now I'm off to run errands. Deposit a check, bike stuff, something to eat, home, laundry that needs to be folded, pick up The Boy from school, look out the window for Big Brother riding by himself. I'm sure I've forgotten something.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
and i'll eat out of containers while standing up
I should warn you now that this yet another post about bikes. I've been taken over with a sort of mania, but there's also something about this that just feels right. It's like I've gone back to something I never should have let go of.
I flirted with bikes three times over the years since my childhood when riding my bike was a nearly daily occurrence. When Momma and I lived in Charlotte I was able to retrieve the last bike I'd owned in Atlanta, and I was soon riding quite a bit. Then one night, after riding home fairly drunk from somewhere, I forgot to lock the bike outside our apartment door and never saw it again.
The next bike I owned was purchased from a coworker about six (maybe, time is a blurry sensation at best for me generally) years ago. It was a cheap bike from a big box retailer. It rode like shit and sucked then and still sucks now sitting in the garage with its rusty shit wheels. I rode it around the house approximately ten total times over the course of a week and then never again. I wish I had that twenty bucks back. Fuck!
The next bike was last summer when I lived in the Fort. It was also a big box bike, but my mindset then was in a different and more biking places friendly sort of place. I used the bike a lot and then sold it to my ex landlord as I moved back to the house I'm now in. While I'd enjoyed riding the bike to work from the Fort I didn't think I'd ever ride a bike from this house to downtown assuming it was just too far.
And finally my sweet red bike that I love but might replace tomorrow. It's actually today by the time you are likely to read this as it's after eleven o'clock here. Regardless, I do now ride this bike that far often enough, and I've ridden it plenty of other places too. And I actually love riding this bike even though we're on city streets and it's made for narrow trails and dirt berms and jumps over the rough spot
Since I've begun riding the bike I've slipped into the edges of a thing that could be mania twenty years ago with no Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy. But that's not the world I inhabit, so I'll gladly enjoy the tease of it and try to be smart about stuff.
And apparently I'll start contacting some guy on Craigslist about his early '80's Schwinn with the newer "comfort" handlebars, and I'll have asked if he has the original set. And that whole tomorrow thing, yeah, I'm gonna wait for him to call and go look at the bike in the evening.
With any luck Momma will be there, because really the bike would be for her. If it's a good size for her and is in good condition and she wants it she gets it. In the day and a half since I found it and thought about her wanting a bike (she's mentioned it before) I've tried to have her in mind, but I keep looking at it. It's kinda like seeing a boy at a party that you like, but you know he's straight and interested in your friend.
It's really not like that at all, but I want the bike now that I've been looking at it and thinking about it, and I feel bad because I don't want the bike I already have to find out. That can't be good. And I still want to ride him on the street tires I might also go look at tomorrow, but then would I ever ride him how he's meant to be ridden? Would I ever take my beautiful mountain bike mountain biking?
Maybe I'll just keep buying bikes until I'm crazy early '80's Schwinn guy. Yeah, that's the best idea yet.
I flirted with bikes three times over the years since my childhood when riding my bike was a nearly daily occurrence. When Momma and I lived in Charlotte I was able to retrieve the last bike I'd owned in Atlanta, and I was soon riding quite a bit. Then one night, after riding home fairly drunk from somewhere, I forgot to lock the bike outside our apartment door and never saw it again.
The next bike I owned was purchased from a coworker about six (maybe, time is a blurry sensation at best for me generally) years ago. It was a cheap bike from a big box retailer. It rode like shit and sucked then and still sucks now sitting in the garage with its rusty shit wheels. I rode it around the house approximately ten total times over the course of a week and then never again. I wish I had that twenty bucks back. Fuck!
The next bike was last summer when I lived in the Fort. It was also a big box bike, but my mindset then was in a different and more biking places friendly sort of place. I used the bike a lot and then sold it to my ex landlord as I moved back to the house I'm now in. While I'd enjoyed riding the bike to work from the Fort I didn't think I'd ever ride a bike from this house to downtown assuming it was just too far.
And finally my sweet red bike that I love but might replace tomorrow. It's actually today by the time you are likely to read this as it's after eleven o'clock here. Regardless, I do now ride this bike that far often enough, and I've ridden it plenty of other places too. And I actually love riding this bike even though we're on city streets and it's made for narrow trails and dirt berms and jumps over the rough spot
Since I've begun riding the bike I've slipped into the edges of a thing that could be mania twenty years ago with no Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy. But that's not the world I inhabit, so I'll gladly enjoy the tease of it and try to be smart about stuff.
And apparently I'll start contacting some guy on Craigslist about his early '80's Schwinn with the newer "comfort" handlebars, and I'll have asked if he has the original set. And that whole tomorrow thing, yeah, I'm gonna wait for him to call and go look at the bike in the evening.
With any luck Momma will be there, because really the bike would be for her. If it's a good size for her and is in good condition and she wants it she gets it. In the day and a half since I found it and thought about her wanting a bike (she's mentioned it before) I've tried to have her in mind, but I keep looking at it. It's kinda like seeing a boy at a party that you like, but you know he's straight and interested in your friend.
It's really not like that at all, but I want the bike now that I've been looking at it and thinking about it, and I feel bad because I don't want the bike I already have to find out. That can't be good. And I still want to ride him on the street tires I might also go look at tomorrow, but then would I ever ride him how he's meant to be ridden? Would I ever take my beautiful mountain bike mountain biking?
Maybe I'll just keep buying bikes until I'm crazy early '80's Schwinn guy. Yeah, that's the best idea yet.
don't never mind the bollards, srsly
Alas the rain again could also be a title for this post. As promised, the rain has once again moved into my stormy little slice of heaven.
To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.
I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.
My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.
Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.
What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.
I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.
I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.
I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.
I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.
To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.
I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.
My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.
Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.
What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.
I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.
I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.
I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.
I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.
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